[Breeder] Dad

[TheBreeder]

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“Damn, it’s cold out!” My entrance into the twenty-fifth-story apartment is as vigorous as the blustery wind outside. “Hey dad,” I say, giving the older man standing there in his underpants a quick hug. I shut the door and toss my backpack onto the dining room chair nearby. I use the tips of my toes to pry loose the heels, then kick my sneakers off so that they fly up in the air and land in a haphazard mess in the middle of the hallway. “Man, it’s good to see you. How’s mom?”

The man stares at me as I make myself right at home. I’ve never been there before, but it’s easy enough to find the kitchen. “She’s good, son,” he says to my back.

I’ve been bending over in the fridge, and emerge with a bottle of beer. I don’t like beer. I don’t intend to drink much of it. But I pop the top and take a chug, for show. “Awesome.” I’m taking another chug as I walk to the living room. I’ve got on a sweater, but it comes off before I put the beer down on the coffee table. I use a coaster. I’m not a savage.

The man has followed me over, somewhat dazed at the way I’ve treated his apartment as my own. He’s a good looking man—probably quite a looker when he was younger. He’s in his sixties now, though. Still distinguished. Still has a head of gray hair that’s cut expensively and styled well. At the moment he’s wearing a tank top that reveals a thatch of chest hair, dark at the edges and silver in the middle, and a pair of designer jeans.

I look him dead in the eyes. “Fuck,” I say in a low voice. “It sure is good to see you, dad.” Then I lean down, entwine my fingers in his hair, and pull his face to mine. My lips surround his in a deep, wet kiss. It’s not the kind of kiss most sons have for their dads.

I pull away, and smile at him. He’s breathing heavily. Beneath that expensive denim, he’s rock hard.

Good. That’s exactly what I wanted.

I flop down on the sofa, legs wide apart. Then I take another swig from the beer—my last, because that’s about as much of the stuff as I can stand. I wriggle my toes. “So what’s my dad up to tonight?”

He’s staring at me, entranced. The heel of his hand rubs against the front of his trousers. “I’m here for you, son,” he says, his voice husky.

“I’m here for you,” I softly correct him.

He falls to one knee, then the other, in front of me. His throat is still choked with emotion as he says, “Let me give you a foot rub, son.”

I let my calf rest on the coffee table. “Oh man, that’d be great, dad. It’s been a long time since you gave me one of your foot rubs.”

Slowly, reverently, he takes my foot into his hands. I feel the warmth of his flesh against its top and its sole. He leans forward, close enough that I can feel heat from his breath on my toes. Then he places them against his cheek, and holds them tight.

I lean back, smile, and allow him the liberty. I’m a good boy to my dad.

He’s a client. I’ve never seen this guy in the flesh before, never been in his apartment. He reached out to me online just the night before to say that if I was willing to indulge him in a very specific fantasy, he’d be more than willing to pay for a couple of hours of my time. He’s a married man, with a ‘secret apartment’ in one of the city’s more desirable neighborhoods. I don’t know how anyone manages to have a ‘secret apartment’ in this day and age, but hey. More power to him.

It’s a nice apartment—not large, but gracious. Elaborate moldings. High ceilings. A modern, renovated kitchen. The furniture is clean and tasteful without being fussy. I look around and take in the books, the CDs, the collection of porn DVDs near the flatscreen. All the while, he continues to worship and rub my feet. He’s removed the socks. Sometimes he kisses them as well.

“I shouldn’t have drunk that beer,” I say in a murmur. “Maybe I better lie down a little bit.” Without waiting for permission, I rise and make my way to the bedroom.

The bed is neatly made. I flop down on it. “Let me make you more comfortable, son,” he says, as he unbuttons my shirt. Then his hands fumble with my pants. I allow him to undress me as if I’m his child, until he’s down to my shorts. I stick my hands inside, and rub my cock. “Wow,” he says, looking at me. “Wow, son.”

“You’re so good to me, dad,” I tell him. I reach around to the back of his neck, and pull him down to me again. Our bodies press together as we kiss. He’s a good kisser. I could make out with him for as long as he wanted. He presses into the hardness between my legs. I make it swell, so he can feel it against his flesh.

“Please let me suck your cock,” he begs, when he comes up for air. “Let me suck my boy’s cock.”

I look at him with wide eyes, “Fuck, dad, really?” Then, more conspiratorially, “I don’t know what my girlfriend would say. Would it be just between us?”

I pull down my shorts so he can see the goods. His eyes are even bigger than mine. “Fuck,” he whispers.

“It’ll be just between you and me, right? Right, dad? No one else has to know?”

I’m pushing every single one of his buttons. No. I’m mashing those buttons with the heels of both hands and my jack-booted foot, hard. He’s breathing so hard I’m actually almost worried about a heart attack. “Just between a dad and his boy,” he rasps.

“Well . . . okay, I guess. . . .” As if there were any doubt.

He’s completely lost in the fantasy as he lies between my legs and lets his mouth travel up and down on my meat. The sounds of enjoyment I make are completely genuine. He’s good at what he does. I’m enjoying the fuck out of this guy, and his excitement feeds mine. When I reach between his legs, his cock is dripping wet. I thought I pumped out the precut—I’m a dry spigot compared to Dad.

He starts to moan when I rub his hole. “Have you ever been fucked, dad?” I ask, in the softest of whisper.

“Yes, son,” he says, looking up at me from beneath my rigid erection. “Your dad loves to be fucked.”

“Wow,” I say. “You mean, my own dad lets guys fuck his ass like pussy?”

He moans and his eyes half-close. I’m stomping on those buttons again.

“Can I try?” At my question, he looks at me helplessly. “Is that okay? Can I put it in you, dad?”

“Please,” he begs. “Please, son. Please fuck me.”

I’m already reaching for the bottle of lube by the bedside. It’s on plain display. I’m rubbing some into my meat and some onto his hole. “I’ve always wanted to fuck you, dad. I bet it’s sweet. I bet it’s soft and warm and—fuck.” I’ve navigated behind him, and gently positioned him onto his knees. He’s groaning and moaning loudly and rubbing his forehead against the pillow. “Fuck, it’s just like pussy, dad. Just like pussy.”

He does feel good. Easy to penetrate, slick and warm. I’m as hard as cement as I start to fuck his hole. “I need this so badly,” he confesses to me. “I needed my son inside me.”

“I told you I was here for you tonight,” I sat to him, right into his ear.

And I am there for him. For the next hour I fuck him in every position. From behind, where I plunge in and out the entire length of my cock. On his back, where I kiss him sweetly and grind in deep. On his side, so I can hold him tight and tell him how proud I am to have him as my dad. I even get him to slide head-first off the bed, so I can fuck his hole as he props his butt in the air against the mattress. He loves every fucking minute of it. Whenever he opens his eyes wide enough to meet mine, they’re flooded with adoration.

This is for him. Completely for him, just between a dad and a son.

“You’re making me so fucking hot, sir,” I tell him, as I get too close to turn back. “Tell me where to cum.”

He wrestles with the decision for a moment. “Pull out and cum on my dick and nuts,” he says.

I’m fucking him on his back again at that point. I pull out, shuffle back on my knees, stand at the bed’s foot, and yank him down. My hips are jutting forward as I use the lube and juice I’ve already been pumping out to slick up my cock. Obscenely I masturbate for him, making as much noise with my fist as possible. “You are so fucking hot, Dad,” I whisper. “Maybe sometime you’d let me cum inside you.”

“Yes,” he says, playing with his own dick. “Please, son. Please cum inside me next time.”

“Yeah?” I ask. “You want your son’s sperm in you? Fuck, that’d be hot. I want it, dad. Next time I’m breeding your hole. Breeding my dad’s hot hole.” I’m pushing myself over the edge now. Cum sprays out of my dick and paints his junk. After he feels the first jet, he’s rubbing it into his skin. I shoot more liquid over his cock. Immediately he uses it as lube, and jacks himself into a frenzy. I let the head of my throbbing, still-hard cock nudge against his hole. Rub it around. Let it dip in and out as he continues to jack. Then he’s climaxing. His body contracts and writhes as his short, fat cock unleashes an even bigger load than I’ve produced. It seems to go on for minutes. He gasps and chokes for air, then shudders once, twice, three times, four times, as the sensations wrack his body.

I collapse on the bed beside him. “Thank you, sir,” I say, as he rests his cheek on my chest.

It’s a couple of minutes later when his head is clear and he comes to. He looks at the clock. “You still have a few minutes left,” he says. “Please let me wash you off.”

“I’d like that a lot,” I say, as I kiss his forehead.

He warms up the shower for me, and joins me inside it. Once we’re both under the prickly jets he uses his hands to wipe the semen from my body. He soaps me all over, and rinses me off. I let him do what he wants, as I enjoy the sensations of skin and soap and slippery flesh.

Then we’re back to the living room, where he helps me dress as tenderly as he undressed me. I’m putting on my own shoes when he grabs my wallet out of my pants. I don’t mind that he checks out my drivers’ license. He already knows my name and age. “Looking a little empty here,” he murmurs, which is accurate, since besides my license the only thing I’m carrying is a Visa and a MetroCard. “Let me make sure you have some spending money,” he says, as he slips several large bills inside.

I don’t even count to see that it’s the amount we agreed upon for the two hours I’ve been there. I know he’s good for it. “Don’t take the subway back to the Terminal,” he says, slipping a twenty into my jeans pocket. “It’s late and rough out there. Dad wants you to take a cab.”

“Yes sir,” I say. I let him zip up my jacket before I lean in for a final kiss.

He puts his hand on top of mine, stopping me before I go. “I’m going to want you to come back again,” he says in a whisper.

I nod, then take my leave. I’ll be back again all right, to that secret apartment high in the city, where everything that happens is just between my dad and myself.

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[mike43]

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